And Everything In Between
by Chimaya
Summary: "Turnabout for Traitors," before, during and after.
1. Chapter 1

PLAN Y

"Got everything?" Scotty asked him.

What little there is, yeah," Kelly ground out in reply. He took a hard drag on the cigarette, blew a vicious stream of smoke, and lobbed a glare back at Nate. "You know, I feel like I'm being… sent to the principal's office, or something."

"Well, you are in a way," said Scotty.

"Thanks – that doesn't help." Kelly stopped before the elevator door, punched the down button then jammed the cigarette into the nearby sand-topped container. He stood there, wishing the doors open, jiggling a little because he just couldn't stand still and have them stare at him, watching his every move. Nate's hand kept slipping inside his coat to the gun surely holstered there, and Scotty-

Scotty was just plain worried, even though he could mask it well. It didn't help that Kelly's shoulder was still burning from stress this morning; Scotty had certainly noticed his attempt to stretch it out just after the shower. And there was no hiding the dark circles under his eyes. Normally a haggard face would bring some moments of glee to Scotty, who would needle him about his dedication to keeping up his playboy cover. But Scotty wouldn't laugh over this kind of haggard, or over a bad shoulder.

"Try to get some sleep on the plane," Scotty quietly counseled now, reading his thoughts.

"Certainly," Kelly answered. "Better than any conversation ol' Nate here might offer."

"I'm doing my job, Kelly," Nate growled from behind him.

"Yeah, yeah, so you say," Kelly muttered as the elevator door opened. It was empty so he stepped inside.

Scotty settled in at his side, right by his flight bag, as if he knew that Kelly was considering whalloping Nate with it and then bolting. Then Scotty quietly placed a hand on Kelly's wrist, and sent over that little warning glance. Kelly sighed lightly in acquiescence, and the hand slipped off his. He went silent as the doors closed behind them and the car whooshed downward, but could not keep completely still. Once these doors opened, the process of professionally denuding him would be complete. They already had his gun and extra ammo clips, his identification badge, extra cash, his pocketknife, the case of lock picks, the hidden cyanide pills – all the physical tools of his trade. Shipping him back to Washington, under guard, was the last necessary action.

"Does it help to know that I was sent to the principal's office a time or two myself?" Scotty finally offered to him.

Kelly's smile was tight but he tried to go with the levity anyway. "Is that right, Jack? You?"

"Yes, indeed-y," Scotty grinned.

"Well, I'm shocked, sir, shocked at your admission," Kelly declared. Behind him Nate was seething, which delighted him. Anything to aggravate at this point was worth it – what else could they do to him? "Your mother must have been terribly disappointed in you – and I thought you were a Boy Scout. I distinctly remember watching you whittle up a little fire in a certain locked room in Palm Springs last year. What have you to say for yourself, sir?"

"I had to fight for my honor," Scotty answered solemnly.

"Yes, certainly you did."

"I did," Scotty agreed.

"And just how, or with who – whom – did this altercation occur, sir?"

"Well, one time Egghead Wilson made a pass at my girlfriend Dolores…"

"Sorry about that for Mister Wilson," Kelly responded. Nate made a noise of frustration. "Pray tell," Kelly continued, "was he all cracked like Humpty Dumpty after the fall when you were done?"

"He was," Scotty confirmed with a grin. "And I got a righteous kiss from Dolores for that."

"To the victor go the spoils," Kelly quipped.

"Yes. And then another time Pooper Grimes-"

"Excuse me? _Pooper_ Grimes, you say?"

"Yes, that's what we all called him."

"Of course. So tell me…"

The elevator doors opened and Nate gave him a little nudge. Kelly glared back at him, but stepped outside, Scotty still close to his side; actually too close, with an elbow into his arm.

"Well, here we are," Kelly announced in a sarcastic tone as they reached the lobby doors.

"Bring the car around," Nate told Scotty, practically pushing him out of the way. He stepped into Scotty's space. "Out on the curb, Kelly, right with me." Kelly stopped short of rolling his eyes at Scotty, but understood – Nate was being completely by-the-book cautious. No doubt two or more agents from the Embassy would greet them at the airport for the escorted ride to Washington. No doubt Washington had already been alerted of Agent Robinson's imminent and shameful return. They'd probably cuff him for the whole trip, too, and insist on observing any in-flight trips to the head.

One thing was certain right now – Agent Alexander Scott would not be traveling with them. Though Kelly would miss the calm steadiness of his partner, it would be a relief to know that Scotty would be working on the case here. And if anyone could get something out of his accuser, the unflappable Anthony Hampton of Her Majesty's Secret Service, it would be the equally unflappable Alexander Scott of the United States Pentagon.

"I'll take your bag." Scotty plucked it from his fingers and walked ahead.

They stepped out onto the hotel curb and waited in the sunny Acapulco offering. Kelly glanced up, squinting at the sun, and reached for his sunglasses; if nothing else he could at least use them to ward off any more scrutiny – Nate poked him hard.

"If you're so nervous, why didn't you just search me back in the room?" Kelly groused at him, catching the meaning. He dropped his hand.

"You're a top agent, Kelly, what do you expect me to do?" Nate questioned angrily, his voice strained.

_And you don't believe Hampton, either,_ Kelly silently guessed.

Scotty was swinging the car around.

"Let's go," Nate pointed.

With a little bit more sympathy for Nate, Kelly stepped up to the car, pulled the back door open-

_Go just go don't run don't dawdle easy like always cool be cool mingle pause keep going keep going listen…no shouts no running feet quick glance…okay no one nothing nothing easy easy keep going_

_Sorry Scotty sorry better this way…I know you hate it I know…_

_Keep going walk walk be cool easy easy_

_Sorry Scotty_

_Sorry_


	2. Chapter 2

NOBODY KNOWS YOU LIKE I DO

_Cash-car-gun._

The trio of words kept revolving in the front of Scotty's mind, and he wondered if the talking heads in the Acapulco _policía_ conference room had considered the same likelihood about his fugitive partner. Right now they were bickering about how many patrolmen to add to the streets, and which avenues to block. And who exactly was in charge. He sat at a table while they talked over him – he kept quiet by choice, acting the shocked tourist who'd witnessed an acquaintance's death, keeping Nate's true identity hidden. It hadn't been so easy with Kelly – he was known in Acapulco as a tennis player. So far, Hampton had gone along with that.

Hampton – he'd shown up in fast time, breaking his cover enough to announce that he was with the British government and seeking one Kelly Robinson as a person of interest in a national matter and offering to unite forces with the police. Just how had he known about Nate? It was possible that they'd been watched as they were leaving the hotel. Possible. Though Scotty had assumed that Hamp was instead going make sure Kelly got on the plane by seeing them off at the airport. And then he'd probably insist on accompanying Scotty to the American Consulate right after to discuss the matter.

Kelly…on the run. Plan Y, Scotty snorted to himself, one of those they often made on the spot and adapted as needed. He understood it, but didn't like it, didn't like Kelly out there on his own, trying to keep Scotty from being implicated along with him while luring the real traitors to him so he could discover the truth. There was too much that Kelly was risking here, his life first and foremost. _I know you,_ _Duke_, Scotty told the ghost of his partner floating beside him. _You're going to find a way to get some cash, arm yourself, and get to Patzcuaro to find out just what happened. Just give me some time to catch up, will you? Don't get too reckless. Don't drop too far too fast – please…_

Cash-car-gun. Commensurate-commensurate-commen—

His internal growl of frustration came out as a sigh as that word tacked itself effortlessly onto his other thoughts, but he allowed it in for consideration because it wasn't going to go away if he didn't. Commensurate – it just wasn't a word that Kelly would use, not talking to another supposed agent for the other side about payment for a deal. Not talking to another agent, period. A supervisor maybe, a diplomat perhaps. Kelly could be blunt or effusive, but never so – so pompous. And that's what this word was. It just wasn't a word he'd use in regular conversation, and certainly not when swinging a deal, whether legitimate or false. He'd choose language that would be plain, effective and completely understood. There was just something about that word that made Hamp's transcript seem utterly phony, despite all the other bits of revealing information that seemed to add up against Kelly. Yet Hamp said he hadn't heard the tape, said it had been sent to London. Kelly emphatically denied any existence of it and of the conversation that had been the source of its existence. Someone was lying – or not telling the truth. Scotty frowned at a crescent shaped scar gouged into the conference room table, thought of a similar one adorning the back of Kelly's shoulder, the shoulder that was turned up tight this morning from the stress of this neatly wrapped little frame up. Kelly was not lying – he knew that like he knew that scar on his partner's back. Hampton seemed so sure. Someone somewhere knew the truth about all this.

Very neat – too neat. The photos, the girl, Randolph-Drumov, the phone tap, the transcript, the ten thousand dollar roll. Hampton had produced it all, was understandably upset at the discovered breach – Kelly knew the British apparatus in Mexico, was one of the few that had been briefed in a joint agreement by the two governments, though perhaps now it hadn't been so agreeable to begin with. Trust shattered, a traitor identified. Hampton's evidence had been enough to convince Nate, and why not? When faced with all this, the first order of business would be to get the agent out of the way and ask the questions later. The only problem was that now Nate had been killed – why? By whom? Had that knife been meant for Kelly instead?

That knife – and Kelly…that knife…

"He's on the run." Hampton was watching the police file out of the room. "He's a fugitive, Scotty. He has to be brought in."

Scotty filed his thoughts away and shook his head at the other agent. "He didn't kill Nate."

"Scotty…" Hamp sighed, dropped both palms onto the desk and leaned in. His face was lined with weariness, no doubt from worrying over the lives of his twelve exposed agents. "He had motive."

"What motive?" Scotty scoffed. Hampton said nothing but stared back at him, those black eyes showing perfectly British, restrained frustration. "What motive?" Scotty demanded

"Ten thousand dollars of motive. He's a traitor, Scotty," Hamp remonstrated softly. "Don't be so blind, dear chap – don't let your friendship color your perspective."

"I'm telling you," Scotty responded firmly, leaning in to match the other man's intent gaze. "No amount of money – or persuasion – would send him to the other side. Check his file – check Japan, check Spain last year. Check everything." Spain, and that room of torture. If Kelly couldn't be broken by pain then he wasn't going to be lured by money, and not at a mere ten thousand, either. Despite some very bad days in the spy business, Kelly Robinson was not a sellout.

"We need this kept quiet, as I'm sure you know," Hampton told him, straightening. "A strain on British relations could set off a very unfortunate chain of events between our nations, especially begun as it has on foreign soil."

"Yes, I know." He'd been told the same thing – and given other instructions as well, those that did not involve the British government.

_Cash-car-gun…commensurate._ It was time to go.

Scotty stood and moved to the door. "Are we all done here?"

"You should know," Hampton began, stepping around to make him pause. "I'm bringing in two more agents from London to help with the case. They've been ordered to take Kelly any way they can." He sighed, hung his head for a moment. "I can't tell you how distressing this is for our agency. And for our agreement…"

So that's how it was going to be. Free-style capture and no collaboration. Yet, the lack of available agents would buy some time. There'd be the _policía_ to contend with, but the force in this city was not that big. Twenty-four hours at least, Scotty thought. It might be enough. He'd already received his instructions from the Consulate: proceed with finding Robinson and get him out of the country. Right now he had to find Kelly, and standing here hashing over this wasn't getting the job done.

_Cash-car-gun._ Yes, he knew where to start looking. And what to look for.

* * *

He stared down at Kelly's watch and ring warming his palm and giving off just the barest essence of his partner's being. He'd caught up, was almost there, close but not yet complete. "Bring him to me," he murmured, watching Goza's retreating back through the hot busyness of the marketplace, wanting so badly to trail the Mexican, but knowing it would be all over if he did. A twenty dollar deal with a small time thief, and Kelly's life was riding on it.

Goza disappeared into the crowd and Scotty slowly headed the other way. He'd get to the fort early, watch and wait. Trust his instincts about the man he'd just met.

_Kelly, be there, man. Just be there…_


	3. Chapter 3

MY FRIEND, YOUR FRIEND

"What's going on out there?"

"They talk quiet about you, kid," Goza commented, strolling up to the bar and helping himself to the bottle waiting for him. "But the _policía_ are looking – they watch every tall _Americano_ tourist that walks by."

Kelly sighed, took a last drag of his last cigarette and stamped it out. Yes, that was a given. Nate was likely dead and Hampton would be on top of things. He supposed he couldn't fault Hampton's reaction to the British security breach; he just wished Hamp wasn't so damned sure of himself. Maybe Scotty would be able to convince him to back off a little. A day or two – that's all he'd need to contact Elena and find Randolph. The charter service owner deserved a question or two, even a well-placed fist if necessary. It had all started in Patzcuaro – time to get back there. He'd have to move quickly, though, before Hampton got too many operations in place.

He swiped a hand across the back of his neck, past the still burning shoulder, and grimaced at the grit he found there. There'd been no opportunity for anything more than a quick wash in a grimy restroom, but just as well. He couldn't hide his Caucasian features, and he didn't exactly speak the language. He'd be less noticeable in a set of dirty, disheveled clothes, and as long as he kept his conversations to a minimum he could probably work his way out of the city. Most of the time he didn't need any interpreter because Scotty was at his side and completely fluent in Spanish. This was one of those times, however, when he rued not knowing any more than what he'd memorized from the phrasebook.

His gaze shifted from the scarred tabletop to the man drinking at the bar across the room. If the Mexican hadn't already lifted his watch, Kelly would have just decked him one more time and walked away. But Goza had dangled his last source of cash between them and Kelly had gone along with hocking it – at that point the thief and hustler seemed to feel he could be a help to the "pretty good" _Americano_ fighter. Or maybe he just saw Kelly as an able source of money. Whatever the case, Goza was amiable and capable enough, given a few dollars and a few drinks, and Kelly had to admit he didn't mind the other man's company, given his own situation. Goza didn't ask questions, despite the curiosity lurking in his black, observant gaze. He hadn't tried to finger Kelly's pocket and go for the gun stashed there. There wasn't much else keeping them together but Goza didn't seem in any hurry to walk away, had offered to walk the marketplace and check on any news of an American fugitive. Of course, he didn't know exactly what was going on, and if he did, he might happily wave _adios_ to his newfound "friend." Well, soon enough. Once Kelly found a way to Patzcuaro could leave the Mexican behind, and if Goza wanted to snitch then so be it. By then he'd have it all uncovered, and Scotty…

Scotty – though he longed to have his partner by his side in all this, he didn't want to unduly implicate Scotty in any way, and hanging around waiting for the police after Nate had been stabbed would've done just that. With Nate down there were likely orders to grab him any way possible. This was his own mess, even if he didn't have a clue as to how he'd landed in it. And he wouldn't take Scotty with him if he fell, even though he knew his partner was willing to take it on. But treason wasn't a charge easily fought. There was evidence to uncover, personal and professional integrity to protect, and at this point two governments to convince. If there was one thing Kelly would not sacrifice it was his partner, any part of him, blood, brains, heart, or soul. They might find Kelly Robinson a traitor and pack him off to jail for life, chalk it up to too much time spent in the field flirting with temptation, but they would not find any blemish on Alexander Scott. Never. Besides, being out here would pull the real traitors out into the open, and make it easier to discover just who had set him up.

_Trust me, Jack,_ he said silently, missing his partner's calm presence beside him, knowing Scotty was not liking this any one bit. _Just give me a little more time…_

"Hey, kid." Goza finished his drink and poured himself another, then set the bottle down and turned away from the bar. He gave Kelly a good look up and down, as if trying to find something in him to question. Finally he said, "A man – he asked me about you. Called you by name."

"And it took you until just now to tell me this?" Kelly rebuked. Just what was he holding out for – more money? Or maybe he wanted the gun – Kelly quickly checked his jacket pocket, but it was still here. They weren't exactly friends here – arm's length allies was more like it. The other man had boasted of working for himself and that usually meant going for the side with the better deal. Kelly's Robinson's end of that was fast running out. "What man? British?"

"No, not British." Goza came over to the table but didn't sit. "American. A tall man, very dark." He shrugged, shoved a hand in his pocket and fingered something there. Well, he'd been gone long enough; he'd probably had time to lift all sorts of things off unsuspecting tourists. Then again, maybe the British had indeed gotten to him, offered him a bribe better than any watch or ring from some vacationer.

Kelly's hand slid back into his pocket, too, and gripped the gun. "Go on," he prompted evenly. He probably should have decked the man when he'd had the chance. "That's not much of a description, _amigo_," he prodded. "What else can you tell me about him?"

"He had shoes with black stripes, two rings, and a fancy watch, like yours," Goza promptly responded and then paused. "He said he was your friend." He emphasized the last word, as if tasting it for the first time and finding it sour. "He was alone."

Well, value-wise, that could describe almost any tourist. Those Adidas, however… "He's my friend," he confirmed quietly. _Didn't take you long, Duke,_ he thought to himself. _But I need some more time. Give me another day…_

"He's smart, your friend," Goza nodded. "He had _your_ watch and your ring – he knows where to look for you."

Stated like that it made Kelly feel exposed, despite the raw truth of it. They did know each other that well. But rarely did they display that relationship to others. And few understood just how close they were. But Goza, the observant son of a bitch, was one of those few. Maybe being apart showed somehow; Kelly had to admit that he did feel rather lopsided, and the headache from yesterday hadn't abated. Not to mention the shoulder that kept tightening.

"This friend," Goza began conversationally, tasting the word again. He strolled back to the bar and poured himself another drink. "You know him for a long time?"

"Yes," Kelly said softly, rubbing at his burning eye, the one he'd kept propped open last night, like any good spy in a tight situation. And his situation felt like a shoe one size too small.

"You are close then? Like family, eh? Brothers, maybe?"

Why all the questions now? There hadn't been half as many last night. Then again, last night had been a lot of mescal and tequila, as least for Goza. "Yeah, we're close," Kelly offered, and the realization of that statement made Scotty's absence hurt all the more.

"He worries for you," Goza told him, setting down his glass. "He does not say, but it shows. He doesn't like for you to be on the run."

No, he wouldn't, Kelly conceded to himself, guilt jabbing at him. Scotty would prefer this to be a stand-and-fight situation, probably had a plan in place, if only he could get his partner to come in off the street.

"Can you trust him?" Goza asked, and the question seemed to bounce off the peeling walls of the cantina and back into Kelly's chest. _Can you trust him? Can you, can you?_

Kelly leveled a steady gaze onto the other man. Goza, the loner, the one who answered only to himself – so he said yesterday. The one who seemed to question the very meaning of friendship, or of trust, if some sort of collateral didn't secure it.

"With my life," Kelly answered simply.

Goza's brows went up. He reached up to scratch at his bearded chin. "Hm," he only said and turned away. "That's a lot, Kid," he said, pacing.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Kelly nodded. "Sometimes it's…everything."

Goza started at him for a long second, then resumed pacing, clearly contemplating. After a second tramp back and forth he turned and approached. Kelly watched as he pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it over. "He said to meet you," the older man began. "Fort San Diego – this afternoon."

Slowly Kelly took the envelope, stared at Scotty's scrawled writing_._ A little prickle or warning worked up the back of his neck. It could be a set up; Scotty might've been forced into it, especially with Hampton so adamant. That's how this had first started. The only way to be sure was to stake out the meeting place. Scotty would expect that – Hampton should, too. If it was another shot at entrapment, then it was a poorly disguised one.

He ran a finger over Scotty's message, and a longing pulsed into him. He hated this lopsided feeling, even though it'd been necessary. "Was he alone?" he asked the other man, slowly looking up.

Goza shrugged and waved a hand. "The _zocalo_ is a busy place, kid."

Kelly tipped his chair back onto two legs. "You're a pretty observant fellow, Goza. You could pick out a snake among the flowers."

That made the other man let off that rough chuckle of his. "I guess you're right." He shrugged again. "I waited – I watched. There was no _policía_. No British voices. Will you go?" he demanded lightly. "To meet with this friend…" he stressed the word again "…that you trust with your life?"

Kelly's fingers went back over the handwriting, finding just the tiniest piece of Scotty's substance along the lettering and sensing the urgency of the request. He brought the chair back down and stood. "That's what it's all about, my man," he said to Goza, and gave his new acquaintance a small smile.


	4. Chapter 4

STRIKE TWO

_Walk walk straight don't stop keep going pain tolerable just a little further same man it was the same man who is he I've seen him can't think walk walk he can't be sure he killed me Scotty did you get him were you followed Scotty Scotty what happened…_

_Sorry Scotty sorry_

_Patzcuaro… have to get there…you know…_

_Get there just get there something is wrong about this…_

Goza straightened at his approach. "Was he there?"

Kelly thrust the stiletto at the older man, slumped against the slippery fort wall, started to go down. Goza grabbed him and the knife – he recoiled, pain blowing through the shock, nausea not far behind. "Go – now," he panted, lurching forward.

"_¿Que pasa?"_ Goza demanded, still hanging onto him, then saw. "Oh, no, kid..." He slid a strong arm about Kelly's already quivering shoulders. "Come on – I will help you…"

_Scotty…Scotty…I'll be there…_

* * *

He awoke bandaged and throbbing. The Mexican woman admonished him in Spanish when he pushed himself upright, and slapped his hand when he pulled the foul smelling necklace off over his head. _"Gracias,"_ he got out to her, rummaging through his slushy brain for something better. _"Lo siento…" _

Slowly he reached for his shirt; it was wrinkled, torn and stained rusty stiff with the leak of blood from the wound. The pain of moving gave his aching brain some desperately needed clarity. Getting out of Acapulco was his first priority. As long as the wound didn't get out of hand he'd be able to find out just who was framing him and why. Scotty's plan for the plane out of the country – like Nate's – was now out. It was clear that they couldn't operate together – not yet. As for his own Plan Y– well, it wasn't so much out as modified…maybe it'd be better if it was called Plan Z.

"_Por favor…"_ he rasped to the hovering, muttering woman. Whatever she had given him had sucker punched him into unconsciousness for what seemed like hours. And taken all his saliva with it – he could barely swallow. _"Agua…_or something…" He fumbled for his coat pocket, pulled out his watch, squinted at the time – only two hours gone, but long enough. He checked the other pocket – no gun. Great… defenseless, hurt and still on the run– this was not one of Agent Robinson's better days.

He slumped a little, the bandages pulling and causing pulses of pain to scamper up onto his shoulder and ride down past his elbow. Someone, from one side or the other, was working very hard to make sure this traitor charge stuck all over him. They must've had Scotty under surveillance – how else would they have known about the meet? Or maybe they'd followed Goza instead. Whoever had stabbed Nate had tried a repeat performance on him. He took a small sip from the cup the woman handed him, hoped to hell she hadn't mixed anything in it – the water could be bad enough on its own. Had it been Hamp or one of his men? It seemed too vainglorious for any British spy, though they likely had a "kill on sight" directive – Hamp himself had alluded to that during those first accusations. Maybe they hadn't meant to stab Nate and he'd been the target from the start. Then again, if Nate had been the target, then it was easy enough to point fingers at the accused agent and issue that kill order. Kelly shoved the cup aside – he knew that knifer, had seen him before…he tried to shake his head, clear his burning vision. That man – somewhere before – with a knife, near the water…

_Scotty…_ Kelly sagged a little further. Scotty would be doubly unhappy now – twice his partner had bailed on him. He'd be mad; moreover, he'd be worried, especially seeing that stiletto crammed into Kelly's back. _Scotty, guardian against all my hurts, healer of all my ills._ _I won't complain the next time you wrap me up too tight,_ Kelly thought to himself, easing away from the woman's rough poke at him. That unsettled, lopsided feeling came back up over him, stronger than before. Patzcuaro was the key to everything – Hampton, Elena, Randolph/Drumov, that knife crazy Mexican, even Hampton's sweet old Uncle Henry. He'd have to get there and hope Scotty would follow, working things from his end so together they could bust this mess wide open and clean it up right.

"Hey, kid!" Goza's stern voice cut into his musing. The burly Mexican strode forward. "What do you think you are doing?" He reached out and grabbed at the shirt twisted in Kelly's hands, but Kelly held on. "You need rest, kid," Goza told him.

"I need a telephone," Kelly corrected. "And I want you to find one for me. Now, give me my shirt, if you please, sir. And my gun – just where did you stash that?"

But Goza was now looking him over with an intent eye, and probably hadn't heard the question. Taking advantage, Kelly tugged the shirt out of his grasp and fumbled to find the sleeve. Drawing it on wasn't easy – his left arm wasn't cooperating too well. Straightening up wasn't that good, either. And his fingers were cold and kept shaking as he worked to push buttons through what suddenly seemed to be tiny little holes in his shirt.

"Ah – my gun?" he prompted the other man still staring at him.

Goza started. "N-no, kid," he stammered, his expression turning guilty. "No gun." He glanced at the old woman and said something in Spanish that included the word _pistola_. She answered back, exasperation evident in her voice. "No gun," he repeated apologetically.

Kelly sighed. "No gun, okay. Where – no, I'm not even going to…" He slowly stood and wobbled, accepted the other man's quick, helpful hand of support. "Just get me to a phone, all right?"

Goza gave him a doubtful look, but shrugged. "Sure, kid. Here, I fix this… " He reached up around and pulled out the folded over shirt collar, his fingers cool against Kelly's sweaty, heated skin.

"I have to call someone," Kelly told him, nodding his thanks.

Goza straightened one sleeve cuff, then reached for the other. "Okay."

"I need a way out of town – today," Kelly said to him, still working at the buttons.

Goza grunted. "If you say so, _amigo_."

"I do say so – it's too dangerous for me to be…" Kelly frowned as his fingers jigged over his shirtfront – damn these buttons and the wooziness that was coming back up over him. "…hanging around."

Goza brushed his hands aside. "I do it for you." He worked the few seconds in silence, and then cast one of those observant, uncomfortable gazes over Kelly.

"I'm all right," Kelly insisted, drawing back from that stare, wishing his head wasn't pounding so.

"Sure, kid, you're all right," Goza replied, still watching him.

Kelly took a step forward to get out from under that unblinking gaze. "I need a phone-" He swallowed his voice as his knee unexpected gave out underneath him; he dropped fast, heat and nausea racing up over him, darkness not far behind...

Goza caught him about the middle and hauled him up. The knife wound howled a protest but the pain brought him back, though he was sweat soaked and trembling. He tried straightening on his own but both legs seemed to have lost their bones. Goza muttered something and jostled him into a better position. His head bounced a little, then found some support when his cheek bumped down onto the other man's shoulder. For a moment he let it rest there, unable to do any more than curse his wretched weakness.

"You silly _gringo_," Goza said into his ear, but held him until the shuddering stopped. "I told you – you need more rest." He sat Kelly back down onto the bed but kept a meaty grip on his collar, just in case. Over his shoulder he said something to the woman.

"No," Kelly protested, seeing her approach. "Goza, now, none of that. She's done enough. I'm all right." He took a breath to slow himself down. "But I really do need to get out of here," he continued softly. "I don't want anyone one to get hurt. Please, _amigo_."

Slowly Goza smiled. "_Amigos_, eh, kid? All right," he nodded. "For you I will do this. Because we are friends." And this time he didn't say the word like he distrusted it.

"Okay – all right." Kelly blew out a breath, felt better. "Thanks, man."

"Sure kid." Goza took up Kelly's jacket and held out a sleeve. Slowly Kelly put his arm into it. "But I think maybe first you tell me who you are running from," Goza suggested, drawing the jacket up over him. "After that I take you to the _teléfono._" He straightened the shoulders, smoothed the lapels, and wiped some sweat off Kelly's cheek. Then he stepped back, crossed his arms – and waited.

So Kelly told him.


	5. Chapter 5

THIS FINE MESS

It was starting to make horrible sense.

There _were_ real traitors at work here, but Kelly wasn't one of them. It never had been Kelly – Scotty knew that the moment he'd confronted his partner with the word – how long ago was that? A day? Two? No matter, he knew what he'd seen on Kelly's face, and in his eyes – the confusion, disbelief and indignation, knew all those emotions from the man with whom he was closest. Knew before the lights went on and Nate and Hamp stood there with guns drawn. Knew it all through Kelly's nonchalance, skepticism and levity, right down to his emerging anger over the absolute insult of the claims made against him. The man had been set up, and nobody but Scotty believed it. Now Nate was dead and Kelly was out there running, and Hampton…

Hampton had made all those accusations, had all the evidence – the photos, the phone transcripts, the roll of cash. He'd had the girl under surveillance – so he said. Then claimed her clean, with a file on her that was as thin and bland to match. Too clean – spy clean. The girl, Kelly's latest acquaintance, the supposed innocent, unwittingly used by the American agent turned traitor…

Elena Victoria Garcia y Mendoza had made two telephone calls. One to Patzcuaro, the one Scotty'd heard her place when she was at the hotel, right after their conversation. Then the local call…

The one he himself had dialed upon getting the number from the front desk, after she'd checked out.

The one to Hampton's Travel Service.

Scotty rattled the door of Hampton's office – looked like Hamp had checked out now, too. The office hours were clearly posted, but the door was firmly locked well before closing time.

_Commensurate_… the word that refused to go away. _Commensurate _and Hampton – and now Elena. Scotty slid a look around but there was no one about on the street at this hour of the afternoon. It took less than a minute to pick the lock and slip inside the building's vestibule, another thirty seconds to jimmy the lock on the business door. He had the phone number but he needed something more, something that secured Hampton to this Elena, and to the Russian. That something was here, and Alexander Scott was going to find it. Because if he didn't his partner wasn't going to make it.

_Kel, be careful, stay low, wait for me… _

He crossed through the outer office and into Hamp's, both rooms still holding a hint of air-conditioned coolness; Hamp hadn't been gone that long. The blinds had already been drawn across the windows so he left them; there was enough light for now to work by. He approached the desk, moving carefully. The desktop was clean but for the requisite pen-and-pencil holder and a calendar; a flip through the recent pages showed nothing, no names or abbreviations, no car repair appointments, no dentist reminder cards, not even a doodle. Too clean – spy clean. As expected, the drawers were locked. He popped the main lock in the middle top drawer, releasing the mechanism that held them together. With efficient swiftness he began his search, checking papers, scanning notes, concentrating on the few hand-written scraps, looking into files regardless of the labels. His eyes read even as his hands felt for false bottoms and hidden spaces, keys that might be taped to the insides or undersides. Elena Mendoza – he kept looking for the name and the initials, hoping it wasn't an alias. And Vasil Drumov or John Randolph or whoever he was. There was a brochure on Randolph's Charter Service, with the same number that he'd seen in the photo of Kelly standing there at the site – he laid that on the desktop, glancing at it now and then, sensing that there was something in it that he needed. Everything else he found – files on tourist clients, travel package plans, hotel and attraction brochures, receipts for office expenses, invoices for supplies, bills of laden – was common evidence of the "legitimate" side of the cover business.

Yet there had to be something…

He turned to the closest filing cabinet – locked. He got it open and kept going, his mind separating, one side concentrating on his search, the other half picking up a an hours-long thread of increasing worry. He'd had Kelly; for a few minutes he'd had him. Goza had delivered the message and Kel had shown up at the Fort, uneasy but willing to talk. The problem was that they'd talked too long.

"Should've gone on instinct," he murmured softly to himself, flipping through another file. Just reached out and snagged Kel, hustled him to a taxi and ignored any protests. _Would've been safer if I'd just…_

He abruptly stopped and pounded a fist against the cabinet, swallowed back the sour burn climbing back up his throat. That knife, buried deep into his partner's back. Kelly's shocked face, his surprised voice – and his fast disappearance, back on the run, but now wounded. Scotty had returned to the pawnshop but the owner hadn't seen either Kelly or Goza. Creeping concern had him searching the marketplace again, walking and looking, asking some quiet questions and avoiding the police whenever a uniform walked into view, the action tamping down his threatening panic. Kelly wounded – bleeding…had he been treated? Was he all right? He'd be more determined than ever to get to Patzcuaro now, find Elena, find Randolph. Kelly had phenomenal stamina, could work through any illness or injury, pushing himself beyond the inner strength of most men by refusing himself any acknowledgement of weakness until the job was done. And the job was not done – not yet. Kelly Robinson was also deadly obstinate when provoked, and this mess had provoked him plenty, even before he'd been stabbed. But that stubbornness could also work against him, make him too singular-minded – that's generally where Scotty stepped in and together they'd beat the problem back. _I'm coming, Jack; it's here, the evidence is here…_

It was in a file marked "PATZCUARO."

His hand came up out of the folder with a rental agreement for a house there, to one E. Mendoza, only a month ago, from the Pam Noth Real Estate Agency. And an inked notation on the bottom: "Secure boat for use from RCS." _He keeps my boat_…

Scotty grabbed the girl's file he'd brought with him – yes, the two addresses were the same.

Pam Noth… he whirled about, shoved aside the desk telephone and reached for the directory underneath. He flipped frantically through the pages, digging for the N's. Noth, Noth…nothing, there was nothing. No person by that name, no business by that name.

He hastily replaced the book, grabbed the pencil and ripped an old page from the calendar. Pam Noth, he wrote, then PAM NOTH.

PA MN OTH

MAP NO TH

HMAP NO T

HAPM TON

His fingers shook as he scribbled it again: HAMP TON

Hampton.

And then the pencil in his hand scratched "RCS" across the paper, seemingly of its own accord – RANDOLPH'S CHARTER SERVICE.

The room swooped and spun, and he had to grab the edge of the desk to steady himself, breathing for a few long seconds through the heat and nausea that clutched at him. Then he forced it back down. Head throbbing, he dug back through the papers strewn on the desk to find the charter service brochure. Randolph's Charter Service – two years old. He groped for the telephone and dialed a number with a still shaky hand, gave the greeting code, got put through. Asked two questions. Hung up and waited.

It took an agonizing twenty-two minutes, precious time he couldn't afford to waste but had to for Kelly's sake. He kept searching the office, letting papers and files scatter and drop now. He found the office ledger, and a prominent ten thousand dollar withdrawal from the business account marked as an operating expense. Found the files from Uncle Henry's shop, too, carefully coded.

The call came back – two rings, silence and then three more rings. He seized it, gave the response code, listened, offered a soft "thank you" and carefully hung up. And just stood there, unable to move, barely able to breathe.

Kelly had been so neatly framed, netted by his knowledge of the British apparatus and a squeezed Hampton, unwittingly aided by his convenient vacation time and his eye for a pretty girl in trouble. Hampton…Scotty's fingers almost crumpled the folder in his hands. Hampton, an out-and-out traitor, a complete turncoat, a dark stain on Her Majesty's Secret Service. He'd jeopardized the lives of his own colleagues, set up kill orders, murdered Nate, and sent Kelly on the run for his own life. Even now Kelly might be…

The thought brought him back. He sucked in a breath, rubbed a hand over his sweating face, and shoved the brochure and the rental agreement into the girl's file. Kelly was right – Patzcuaro was where this had all started. And the girl was up to her pretty neck in all of it. With a thumping heart and a cramping stomach Scotty eased out of the building and back out onto the street. The heat of the day was fading and dusk was coming in. Too much time had passed…

_Kel, I know…wait for me, man, please wait. Please don't…_

He started walking away, long legs striding longer, faster. Then he broke into a run. He needed a car, and a way past the roadblocks. Patzcuaro was hours away.


	6. Chapter 6

REFUGE

_Walk walk straight don't stop keep going just a little further don't run don't dawdle easy like always easy easy mingle pause keep going keep going listen…no shouts no running feet…quick glance okay no one nothing nothing easy easy keep going…did you follow Goza mi amigo where are you did they hurt you sorry it happened I didn't know I thought …damn them dammit dammit…_

_Keep going listen listen… no one close don't look back keep going careful stay straight keep going…_

_Scotty Scotty now is a good time, Jack …just make like Captain Marvel and…_

He sunk into the soothing darkness on twitching leg muscles, heavy sweat slicking every part of him and making him shiver and shiver so that he could hardly get his head down against the cool, smooth wood of the bare pew. It hurt, and for a moment that was all that existed about him – a searing twist that cut off his breath, tunneled sharp around his hip, streaked into his shoulder, and then pulsed sharply downward to squeeze the nerves and muscles along his crippled arm. Blood from the wound slid past the ruined bandage and ran slick and warm across the fiery skin at his back, sticking and pulling where it clotted against his shirt. He wanted to rip it off but he couldn't turn, couldn't get his hand around, couldn't do anything but give himself a very badly needed moment to drop out of sight and regroup – he couldn't stay here, could only hide long enough to get going again…

He shifted to ease the pain and floundered, softly cursed his noisy clumsiness, then regretted the epithets. _I'm sorry…please – shouldn't even be here, _he silently said to the shadowy Overseer commanding this sanctuary as he tried to swallow his gasps and just go quiet and invisible. _I won't stay…just need to…_

He listened for clattering footsteps, out-of- place voices…nothing. There was just the drone of Latin verse and unison response floating over him in strange comfort, rising and then falling like steady breath. He breathed with it, trying to ease the throb of his heartbeat and hold back the pain and course of blood, futile but reactive, minute purchase against this mess into which he'd been thrown. Images ran together behind his burning eyes as he lay there – Elena curling her arms around Randolph; Tomás cocking a gun before him; Goza holding him and then shoving him out the door.

Elena and Randolph…he managed a bitter smile to himself. What a perfect little set up – and he was the central fool. The vacation, the girl, the meeting – and he'd never suspected anything. They'd played him like a fine violin and gave Hamp all the evidence he'd needed to expose a traitor – an American, no less, selling foreign secrets on foreign soil. And Nate – poor Nate. Damn that knife crazy Tomás… Perfect, just perfect…well, he'd discovered their perfect plan and they weren't going to get to finish it, not while he still breathed. Kelly Robinson was down, but he was definitely not out. And if Goza caught up…

Scotty – he needed to tell Scotty.

Kelly reached out but his hand only swatted air. The loss of his partner's presence swept up past his pain. _Duke, where are you? _On his way; surely he would've figured it out by now. Scotty was good like that, thinking and figuring, poring over little details. He'd come to Patzcuaro – he'd find out about the girl – he'd find out about everything. Then it'd be time to stand and fight, just like he'd want to do. _I'm ready, Jack…anytime you get here…Scotty…_

Quiet…the Mass had ended and the air was cooler, the gloom deeper and more soothing. He breathed – in and out, in and out, his mind going soft with the silence, his thoughts fading on pain and exhaustion. The darkness reached out over him, and then into him, seamed his eyelids shut and pulled him down and down, below the surface of consciousness. He was so tired, and it hurt so much…

He dreamed in red – Randolph was piloting a red boat, the deck dripping with flowing blood so rich it was almost black. Nate hung jaggedly from the main mast, eviscerated neck to crotch, bleeding endlessly. Tomás calmly sliced his body with a long, gleaming knife, peeling away strips of skin, digging out muscle, scraping at bone. The old woman appeared, whirling and chanting, waving an armful of those smelly necklaces. Elena waltzed in among them, dipping her hands into the warm red mess, laughing as the gore ran down her arms. She knelt, licked and drank, then wiped it across her cheeks, still laughing.

Goza appeared and grabbed him. "You silly _gringo_," he laughed, dropping him onto the slippery floor. "Where's my ten bucks?"

Elena crawled up to him, her lips and chin slick, bloody fingers climbing up his legs and then higher, groping him. _"Querido, querido…"_

He recoiled and tried to back up, but he was suddenly impaled to a wall by a stiletto that had pierced him all the way through, paralyzing his core, raking at his lungs. Only his limbs flapped aimlessly, arms going one way and legs another, dancing like a marionette doll on strings. And they were all converging on him, touching him, ripping at him, making him bleed…

_Scotty, Scotty… Where…? I need you-_

"Get up, Kelly…"

The voice brought him up into murky awareness – for a moment he didn't remember anything but the cool darkness. Then the pain awakened and he felt the ache where he had lain hard against the pew, caught the faint aroma of incense. Hiding, he'd been hiding…He got himself up a little, shifted and turned slowly, swallowed and squinted, trying to see in the gloom. Saw the figure standing there, knew it, knew the features of the man whose face settled into dim view – Hampton. Hampton, dammit! It was all right.

It was all right because Hampton was here and he could tell Hamp what he knew and how he knew it, and how Hamp had been after the wrong man all along. And he began to talk, his voice rattling free and relief spilling out with the words– he had so much to say and he just couldn't talk fast enough because it hurt to breathe and the pain was coming up strong. But his mind was clearing – it was all right, it was over…he'd tell Hamp about Elena and Randolph and Tomás. He was just so glad, so damned glad to see the man…

And then Hampton just stood there staring at him with that amused sort of smile on his face and said nothing, didn't lend a hand or reach over to help him up. Just stood there looking down at him. And then he glanced off and gave a little nod. His gaze came back but still he kept silent.

A footstep – Kelly looked. Stared as the two faces came into view, closer and together. Saw them, recognized them…

Trapped – he was trapped by the rows of pews before and behind him. And they knew it – they would simply-he looked back to Hamp and saw the cold shrewdness in the black eyes, realized the truth and his huge error only a beat too late – all of them, in with Hampton...framed, set up, yes, but not like he thought. Hampton – the son of a bitch! Damn the man, damn him…

The pain howled as they grabbed him and hauled him out of the pew; coagulated blood ripped free and starting a gush of warm, fresh wetness down his burning back. His arm broke out into fire and his shoulder muscles contracted, twisting him sideways. The pounding in his head was so hard it was making him sick – and mad. He sucked the anger it gave him and struggled – he might not break free but he sure as hell was going to keep trying. Sons of bitches, all of them…he worked an elbow and connected, heard a surprised grunt, threw his weight in the same direction.

"_Bastardo,"_ Tomás hissed at him, punching back. "I will kill you yet…" He clamped harder on the bad arm – and twisted.

The pain was crippling; his feet could barely scrape across the floor in some clumsy semblance of a walk, the rest of his weight dragging him down in their grips. Randolph was cursing now, too – one of them kicked him in the knee but it only made him sink farther. He was losing the fight, not that it'd been even from the start, but he never was one for worrying much about the odds…

They shoved him through a door to the outside; he stumbled and went down into the white-hot brightness, instantly blinded. They hoisted him back up but he'd gone useless, couldn't find any control. He felt the scream coming, but oddly nothing came out. There was just the pain turning him rigid – and then nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

A PRETTY QUISLING IS SHE

Goza cocked the gun against her ear, no longer the bystander but the new director of this interrogation session.

Scotty didn't object, though his impatience was tapping a reminder of the time. This girl was the enemy and enemies, when captured, were forced to confess by one manner or another. Or die. And she was in it up to her pretty neck with the Russian – and with Hampton, that master traitor of all. Hampton, who'd rented her this house, set her up to lure Kelly, and paid her for her services, just to save his own skin. Yes, she knew where Kelly was, and it was time for her to spill it. By whatever means possible. The faster the better – his partner's life depended on her.

_He runs, or he is dead… _Goza's chill statement had quickly settled under his heart, made worse by knowing that they now had Kelly. He'd found the church, talked to a priest who'd seen a sick man helped to a waiting car. A tall, thin man with dark hair, young and American-looking. And a man with a British accent driving. _Where'd they take you, Duke? I know she knows… _He turned his gaze onto his new ally, and up to now, Kelly's protector. Goza had been with Kelly, knew how badly he was hurt. Scotty wanted those details; already his mind was working on treatment scenarios for shock and blood loss, calculating the miles to the nearest hospitals. It would only be a matter of time before Hampton would kill. And if it was too late -

_We were born lucky,_ he'd told Kelly not long ago, but that didn't mean he didn't look back over his shoulder now and again to make sure it held. Death lurked close in this business, but so far they'd been able to keep ahead of it. He _would_ find Kelly, but if it was too late…

Then he'd pick up the pieces and finish the job. Take Kelly home, and deal with the rest later. But not yet. There was time, barely, but some…

"Sometimes," Goza was saying in Spanish to Elena, his face thrust into hers, "sometimes the bullet does not kill right away…" She cringed and looked away as he moved the gun barrel down to her shoulder. "It might break a bone here…" to her elbow "…here…" down against her thigh and against her knee "…and here." He smiled. "There are enough bullets in this gun for all those places." His other hand came up, worked into her long hair and pulled, forcing her to look up at him. "Where are your friends, _señorita_?" he said to her in English. "Why have they all left you?"

"Why do you bother?" she spat back, her look furious. "Why do you take up with these _Americanos_? What have they ever done for you? The tourists come to play and still we serve them. They give us nothing."

"He is my friend," Goza told her forcefully, giving her hair a quick yank.

"Friend." She laughed, harsh and shrill. "He uses you, _hombre_. He makes a fool of you. He gives you nothing in return."

Goza's smile turned cold. "Then you do not understand, _chica_." He glanced over to Scotty, put the gun back up toward her face – and fired.

She shrieked and covered her ears, shrank down into the seat. Scotty jumped forward to see but there was no blood – there was, however, a bullet hole in the wall above her head.

"Perhaps," Goza told her, "this gun is too much for you, eh? Maybe a knife would be better? Like a knife used on our friend? Did you see what that did to him, _chica_? Did you see the hole in his back, the one you put into him? He bleeds because of what you did…"

"It wasn't me!" she exclaimed quickly. "Tomás…"

"You put it there," Goza insisted. His hand left her hair and came around her throat, thick fingers squeezing. The muzzle of the gun went under her jaw. "One way or another, you will tell us where he is – or you will die." He flung one leg over hers, sat and straddled her, leaned in close.

"What are you doing…P-please…" she stammered with a gasp. Her gaze swept to Scotty, found no sympathy, then went back. "I do not…you-you are hurting me…"

"I see no blood, no broken bones, no bruises," Goza scoffed. He smiled again. "But I can give you some if you want."

She struggled, got her hands up to his thick arms, tried to pull them away. _"Animal,"_ she returned angrily. _"Cerdo-"_

"_Traidora,"_ he hissed back at her. "_Asesina – puta._ Did you get your blood money from your Russian lover?" He looked up to Scotty. "Find me a knife, kid. I don't waste bullets on her – I want to cut her pretty face and see how she screams."

Frustration rumbled past Scotty's lips. "It's messy," he returned shortly, shaking his head. He'd lost Kelly to Hampton by inches and now the girl was pledging loyalty to her comrades. All this time slipping by while his partner's life dangled on the edge of survival. It was either the gun – and instant blood – or his bare hands. He could cripple her, quite easily; he'd been trained in such things…

"Kelly is my friend," Goza told him with definite emphasis. "I promised to find him for you." He turned back to Elena. "I will find him – and she will tell me where."

There was a new note in his voice – he was asking to play on something that'd caught his attention. Something that he knew about her – or women like her. Scotty debated, weighing it against the need to recover time. Perhaps the girl needed something more visual – and less noisy. Or maybe Goza just wanted to get him out of the room while he worked on her. Whatever it was, the man had some kind of idea for Elena, and Scotty did not; he'd long ago run himself past Plan Z. At least it was something. _But not long, amigo. We have to find out and go…_

"You sure you want a knife?" Scotty asked and got an instant reaction from the girl – her gaze flipped up to him, and her dark eyes went round with emerging fear.

Goza nodded. "I want it. How would you live, _chica_, with scars all over your face?" he asked Elena in a knowing tone. She swallowed hard in response; her cheek burned quickly scarlet under his lingering stroke. "What kind of man would want you in his bed? Go, _mi amigo_," he said to Scotty in a softer tone. The hardness in his eyes dropped away, and for the barest of seconds true worry roiled the black depths, worry Scotty knew was for Kelly. Goza…the man could've just asked for that ten spot and ambled away – yet here he was, all jammed into this mess and working with it. For Kelly's sake…

"Get a knife…" Goza prodded in that same soft voice. "To save our friend."

For Kelly's sake. "_La cocina,"_ Scotty said to Elena. _"Donde?"_

Her look rushed into fear. "Please," she pleaded hoarsely. "I – don't – _por favor,_ don't leave…"

He gave Goza a little nod and turned away.

Elena's voice chased after him. "Please! Don't leave me! Please don't!"

He went through a door and stepped into a little hallway, heard some scuffling behind him but didn't turn back. Heard a smack and a gasp but went through another door, found the kitchen. Quickly he rifled drawers, grabbed what he wanted, came back.

Elena was holding a split cheek with one shaky hand. Goza still straddled her and had the gun crammed deep into her neck. Scotty pointed the knife at her. "Where is Kelly?" he asked her.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. "I – I don't-"

He grabbed the hand holding her face, forced it down onto the arm of the chair, pressed the tip of the blade into the back of her hand. "Where is Kelly?" he repeated. He could just snap her wrist, but he had the knife, and blood was often an effective persuader. And he wanted to persuade, oh, he wanted to…

"Give it to me, kid," Goza urged. "I will do it."

"No," Scotty returned. "Allow me…"

He slid the blade lightly up her arm, didn't even look as the line of blood appeared and began to trickle free. She cried out and struggled, tears finally spilling. Scotty brought the reddened blade up to her face. "For the last time," he said through a jaw held by a fraying thread of patience. "Where did Hampton take Kelly?"

She sniffed through her tears, got her mouth working. "What does it matter – now? He – he'll be dead…."

"It matters," he said. Dead or dying – it mattered. "Where is he?" he asked again, and then his fury broke free. _"Where?"_ he shouted at her. He grabbed her bloody arm and rattled her, his fingers automatically positioning over the small bones, ready to twist. Beside him Goza murmured something and nodded.

"Hampton – he has a place," she tumbled out past shaking lips. "A lodge…"

"Where is it?" Scotty demanded. He shook her again– she nearly fell out of the seat. "Where – tell me!"

"The road," she gasped, trying to reach for her bleeding arm. Scotty pulled it up and away, dug his fingers in hard. She sobbed. "To – to Morelia…"

* * *

"How bad was he?" Scotty asked, hands tight on the steering wheel of Elena's car. His palms were sweating from the hard grip, and more ran down between his shoulder blades, making them itch. He pitched them around a corner, straightened the wheels, and went faster. _Hang on, Hoby, hold them off…_

"Pretty bad, kid," Goza confirmed gravely. "The wound was bleeding. And his arm – it hurt him, he could not use it."

Nerve and muscle damage …just how deep had that blade penetrated? Had it hit a rib and been deflected, or gone deeper, touched a kidney or a lung? Internal bleeding? Infection? Scotty wished he'd seen the wound. All he had now was a terrible memory of that knife protruding from Kelly's back, his partner's shocked face and his tight, urgent voice. Kel'd be exhausted from pain and blood loss, in shock certainly. They'd torture, work the pain and weakness to their advantage, push and push to get Kelly over the edge. There were so many ways, and wounded so…

Just like Spain…_no please, just how much can he take?_ Scotty banged the steering wheel with a quickly formed fist, shoved the accelerator almost to the floor.

"We will find him," Goza offered sympathetically, grabbing the door handle for purchase as the car whipped around another curve. "He does not give up."

"Yes," Scotty answered to both statements in a soft voice, trying to swallow back his jumping heart. They'd find Kelly – his partner never gave up, never gave in… _On my way, Jack, like always…Superman coming in…_

"I will make them pay for what they have done to him," Goza affirmed. "I swear it to you, _amigo_…"

"We'll do what we have to do," Scotty amended. Grab Kelly and go – that was the overall plan. Grab him, apply first aid and get him to the closest hospital – Patzcuaro or Morelia, he knew the locations of both. Go through Hampton and the Russian and whoever else was in the way. Because this had slipped far beyond the matter of the ruined British spy apparatus. It wasn't even an issue of good over bad, or the just against the unjust, or winner over loser.

It was his partner's life. And he'd do whatever was necessary to save it.

Or avenge it.


	8. Chapter 8

"I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE…"

"Kelly…" Hampton's voice, purring with insulting indulgence from some empty space out there in front of him. Kelly wished he could reach out and punch that offending mouth into next week, feel skin split and teeth break under his knuckles. Yes, a good ram in the face and then-

A hand twisted into his shirt collar and held. He heard a huff of exuberant breath as he was pulled slowly upright – ever so slowly, so damned slow, agonizing, visceral… Hot blood ran fast over the raw skin of the wound. Accompanying fire tore up his muscle-worn back and into his neck, sluiced around his ribs and squeezed at his lungs, shoving him involuntarily upward even without Hampton's help. He sucked for air, couldn't help it, hated the way it ended in a raw moan that slid past his cracked lips. He crammed them together, the curiously tasteless edges of split skin rough against the tang of the exposed flesh underneath. But all it did was start the sweat running again; it quickly ran into one eye and stung. He blinked it away, refused to close his lid against it. He _would not_ do it; Hamp could go to hell and back before he'd ever close even one damned eye to him…

"Kelly…"

Hampton held him there, letting him teeter back and forth in misery – _just cut me free and see what I can do to you, you sonofabitch. _But he snatched a breath, knowing Hamp was just waiting to let him think he could relax and -

He was raised higher, slowly _s-l-o-w-l-y_ higher, fists stuffed up tight under his jaw to keep his head from hanging. The invisible band around his head spasmed and skittered down the back of his neck, meeting the line of pain coming up from his shoulder. Through his burning, blurring vision he saw Hamp's cold, all too pleasurable smile at the reflexive shudder of his strained arms and raw wrists against the rope holding him splayed to the bed frame. And then his thighs started to quiver, and the pain was curling out past his hips and up into his gut – he retched, choked it back. And hung there like a dirty little rag in Hampton's grasp, waiting to be tossed...

"Kelly..." The grip eased into obscene tenderness. Hamp leaned in and offered smile that never got even halfway up to his empty, black-eyed gaze. _You worthless bastard…_

"Why torture yourself so? Your word – right now – can change everything. You've got to be tired…in such pain…"

"No," Kelly murmured against the teasing words and singsong voice. He knew these methods of breaking down a man, had practiced them. Right now it was words of lure and half-promises. Fake the sincerity and prey on the weakened mind, reach under the pain and pull on the emotions. Wait a little longer and try something worse. Oh, yes, he knew how it was done. He and Hamp were espionage equals – or they had been, until Hamp had turned traitor. But their training and skills were comparable, and this had been a test of all that. How long had it been – hours? Torture was just another one of the spy games. It came in various forms and had various uses to see what it would take to break a man. But he wouldn't break – he never broke, never…he knew how to keep…

"We've given you time to reconsider, haven't we? Hm?" Hampton continued in that repulsively reasonable tone that was instruction-book perfect. Make-your-teeth-ache perfect. He was probably one of those that got off on torture…sadist-loving asshole… "You've hung here for a couple of hours now…bleeding, shivering – legs asleep…arms afire…"

"Told you," Kelly said louder. " …hate – your guts…" No, that wasn't going to work – anger was too resistive – _have to focus…_

"Oh, don't deny the truth, my dear chap." Hampton let go of his collar and grabbed a good fistful of his hair, yanked. "It hurts," he asserted with a hiss. "There's a fire running up and down your spine, isn't there?" Even as he said the words Kelly's body responded with feeling, trying to betray him; muscles jumped harder, the pain roared from everywhere. "Your head's pounding," Hampton stated, and his temples throbbed in response. "Your arms…" he rattled one and it contracted all the way to his shoulder. "The wound, raw…bleeding. And the thirst…" Kelly couldn't help his swallow – damn the man. "It's…agonizing," Hampton finished softly. "So totally unbearable…and completely unnecessary. Come now, let's have a word…"

Kelly tamped down the anger working inside him. _Calm and focus…attention control._ Training – he had the training. He dug in, found a shred and pulled it up, let it ease through him. _Play through the pain…play to win, always to win. Do it – overhead smash… keep playing, no time for pain watch the ball…here it comes, grab it with a forehand – perfect! Concentrate…Just like Spain…Deep, deeper…absorb and filter. Control – control…No, I'm sorry I can't tell you_…_Winning…yes, winning._ _The cramp is easing, the knee will hold… enough strength… volley smash – yes! Serve, return, watch the line…backhand… Winning winning…sorry I can't tell you…I can't do it, sorry…Yes! Winning. Sweet Jesus – victory! I am the best – the best!_

"Win," he got out, giving Hampton a tiny smile. "I win…"

"Damn you!" Hampton roared and slammed him back against the wall.

"Win…" Kelly sobbed as the pain swamped him. It went dark for a moment but he found his voice, blinked his way back, kept his smile. "Davis Cup…nineteen fifty-four – how's that for – success, Hamp? 'Course, there were – two others, too…not that I'm – gonna brag or anything-"

Hampton pulled him forward, punched his face. "Shut up!" he screamed.

Kelly stopped, heaved for a breath, his cheek smarting. "Can't – break me, Hamp," he said, forcing himself as upright as he could manage, even though he felt himself list badly to the left. "Can't…you'll – kill me – first. I'm no – traitor…like you…"

Randolph appeared as a wavy figure just behind Hamp's shoulder. "Then kill him now, Hampton!" the Russian raged. "No more begging him to turn."

"He's worth more alive," Hampton replied desperation edging his voice. "He has high level intelligence, he's been briefed..."

"Now…I am one – helluva good catch," Kelly mumbled, trying to nod again. "Just not that – talkative at the moment, sorry to say…"

"He's not giving it up," Randolph responded. He shifted; the kick to Kelly's shin rattled his leg like a dead stick. "He'll bleed to death before he gives in."

" 'S right," Kelly said to them. "Now he's – right, Hamp. He's a good – spy – and a good spy knows…but I'll give it – another go…if you want…"

"You've given him enough chances." Randolph, sounding Russian-angry. "End it and let's go."

"No." Hampton, sounding just as determined not to give in. "He'll talk…"

_Scotty, I wish you'd bust in right about now,_ _and blow the back of this bastard's head clean away, bust out those brains before I have to endure his righteousness again…_

"Hampton, it won't work – he's not going to-"

_Yep, come on in, Duke. It's getting a little close, here…hate to go another round with Old Top – he's getting testy…You ever see that Davis Cup win, man? Perfect, just perfect…could've used you then – couldn't walk for a week afterwards…_

"Go get Tomás," he dimly heard Hampton say to Randolph. "And tell him to bring his knife."

_Yep, now's a good time, Fred C, right now would be real good…_

He sank, his strength suddenly sucked dry. And then the pain surged up like a great ocean wave and swallowed him whole, just as his sweaty nose bumped his quaking knee…


	9. Chapter 9

OPERATION: AMIGO

For Fabkat, who understands my need…

* * *

Breathing, yes, but barely.

And here was Goza, laughing and asking for his money, holding out Kelly's sagging form in a ceremonial manner that would've almost been funny had Kelly been even one-eye conscious. It was kind of humorous at first, in an absurd, over-the-top exhausted sort of way. But just looking at Kelly now hanging limply in Goza's grasp, Scotty's amusement faded. And Goza, for his part, had only waved away the bill Scotty had dragged out of his jeans pocket and offered over, muttering something in Spanish about not needing it anymore. Scotty refused to take it back; now it lay crumpled on the carpet between them, valueless.

Going to his knees, Scotty yanked the pillowcase off the pillow resting at the end of the bed and gathered up the rope that had been tying his partner down. His gaze roved over every inch of Kelly, assessing the damage he could see – abraded wrists, shallow breaths, pale and sweaty face, the blood that had soaked fully half of the shirt back. He reached up to find a pulse in the clammy skin at the neck – slow and uneven, much like Kelly's breathing. _Shock, strain…_The blood loss needed to be stemmed, but the torturous position – that had to be treated, too. He slid in beside Kelly and took a gentle hold of the nearest shoulder, the touch causing an explosion of internal emotion that he'd been holding back – until now … _Hoby, Hoby…not again, not again. Why didn't you listen, stay in place, wait for me? You're hurt again, man, so hurt. Why do you do this? You know I hate it when you do this…it took too long to get it out of her – I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner. Aw, Kel…_

"Time to get him out of here, _amigo_," Goza told him, stroking Kel's stubbled jaw with a worried look. "He doesn't look too good…"

He held onto that shoulder a moment more, feeling the warmth of quivering, strained muscle – _I've got you, sorry, trust me…_wishing what he was going to do wasn't going to hurt.

Kelly's head rolled as if he heard the unspoken words. He blinked, squinted – his dry lips worked. "Hey…" he drew out on a long breath -

-just as Scotty pressed the makeshift bandage pad hard against the bloody tear in the shirt.

Whatever Kelly was going to say next was lost as he convulsed, his head coming up off Goza's shoulder, his gaze wide with consuming pain. He opened his mouth… "…that – how you treat…?" And then he sunk heavily down with a moaning sigh.

Goza swore as he lost his grip. "What are you doing, _gringo_?" he demanded to Scotty, struggling to regain his hold. But Kelly, bless him and his strength, was coming to, blinking, taking some shaky breaths and mumbling something. "Take it easy, kid," Goza told him, handling carefully as Kelly turned a fuzzy gaze onto Scotty and tried something with his twitching lips that almost looked like a smile. "I won't let him kill you."

"Yes…well," Kelly gasped back. His head rolled back and forth; he coughed and shuddered, tried to straighten himself. "He's always – doing things like – that." He gave up moving and let Goza hold him, mouth still working. "You cut it – kinda close – this time, Duke," he rasped to Scotty, reaching out to clumsily tap him on the chest. His fingers curled into the edge of Scotty's jacket and hung on. "What hap'nd? Lose your cape or somethin'?"

_No, _Scotty thought guiltily, _I had to cut her, just to get her to talk…_ "Killer traffic," he got out, knowing it was silly but needing to say something to squash the memory flat because what mattered now was Kelly. Kelly needed him, all of him – heart and brains and strength and everything else. And _right now._

"…that right?" Kelly responded sluggishly, though what his tongue couldn't do his eyes could – even compromised he'd seen enough to make Scotty feel warm under his blinking stare. "And here – I thought – you were just…dawdling…"

"I never dawdle," Scotty managed a grin at him; he was talking, making sense – good good… "Dawdling isn't in my genes." He switched hands and reached for the thin pillow he'd just denuded. "Stay with me now, okay? I need you to stay awake. I'm going to tie this around you. Just hold on – let me do the work."

"N-not…exactly goin' anywheres, Duke…"

In an instant everything was smeared with Kelly's blood, the pad, his fingers, the pillow, even the rope he began to tie around Kelly's waist. It was slippery, sticky, tinting the very air around them with its metallic odor. Kel'd need a transfusion once they got to the hospital – he'd lost too much already, too much…

Scotty gave the rope a light tug to snug the pillow into place; Kelly spilled a little _whup!_ and sucked hard for a breath. "Sorry…" He carefully lifted Kelly's hanging left arm – it was cold.

"Hey, hey – go easy there, Duke," Kelly ground out, backing into Goza's supportive arms. "Or my…good friend here…he'll have to hurt you…helluva fighter – right, Goza…?"

But Goza's attention was caught on Scotty's ministrations. "You know a lot of things, kid," he said admiringly, gesturing to the pillow bandage now secured with the rope.

"Yes, and I still have a trick or two left," Scotty answered, even as he had to shove back the worry in his chest that was trying to jiggle into panic. "Now…" Holding Kelly's arm gently in place across his chest, Scotty half-stood and yanked up the bright blanket his partner was sitting on; following, Goza pulled out the end on his side. "Around him," Scotty directed and they swiftly ensconced Kelly in it, crossing one end over the other and tucking it in. That feeling poked him harder –_too much blood loss, too much…_

"You know," Kelly began, blearily looking at their handiwork. He worked his right hand out of the cocoon, plucked at the blanket. "This really doesn't…"

"Okay, give him to me," Scotty said to Goza. Sweet relief filled him as he received Kelly into his arms…_it's all right – it's almost over, just need to get to the hospital…_ Instinctively he curled Kelly to his chest, holding carefully, so carefully, feeling the tremors working through the lean body. Then the odor hit him, something beyond the sourness of blood and sweat. "Phew, what's that smell, man? Smells like someone tried protecting you from vampires or something."

"Didn't do too much good," Kelly muttered back, giving Goza a look that said not to raise any counterargument, even as the Mexican opened his mouth to respond. He twisted his free right hand back into Scotty's jacket. "So, Jack, what's next on – our travel agenda? I'm done with – this tour, if you don't mind…"

"We're going to get him down," Scotty said instead to Goza. "Kel, I'm going to put you down – don't let go of me, okay? Kel?" He got a hand up under Kelly's jaw, brought his head up a little, put himself fully into Kelly's eyesight. "Hey, hey, you with me, hm? C'mon now…"

"What…?" Kelly murmured. The lost focus in his gaze said he'd been fading.

"Down," Scotty told him patiently, over the little alarm ringing inside him. "I'm going to put you down so you can rest a little better – hold onto me, okay?" He waited a little until Kelly hunkered in close and adjusted his grip, sweaty forehead touching equally sweaty shirtfront, uneven breaths heating the fabric. In one motion Scotty turned and eased Kelly down onto the mattress.

"That was not your best performance, Jack," Kelly sobbed on a single breath.

"Not done," Scotty told him in soft apology. He hated to add any more pain on top of what Kelly was already enduring. But his partner needed increased internal blood flow – he'd been folded in half for hours probably, a lovely and terrible pose of torture – where had Hamp learned that one? Even bent over his heart still would have to work hard getting blood to his extremities. He turned to Goza. "Okay, his legs, easy..."

Kelly frowned up at him. "What now – oh, man, not that…" He closed his eyes, exhaled shakily. "I wish you wouldn't – dammit, Jack…" With care Goza brought Kelly's legs up onto the bed, slowly eased them into place under Kelly's moan. He was twitching before Scotty could even crowd close, get hands on him and begin to re-align the spine.

"Now the car, _amigo_…" Scotty said, glancing back to Goza.

"Yes, now," Kelly half-sobbed in agreement. He tried to nod. "That'd be good, Duke…real good after this – fresh torture you're offering…I'd appreciate the lift outta here…"

"_Cinco minutos,"_ Goza promised Scotty. He reached over to give Kelly's sweaty cheek a light tap. _"Cálmese, mi amigo,"_ he urged as Kelly's smile went into a wince. Goza chuckled at him and took a step toward the door, but then whirled back. With a booted foot he gave Hampton's nearby body two savage kicks, added a few curses onto the British agent's soul, then hurried out.

"That's my man, Goza," Kelly whispered trying to re-gain the smile as the other man left.

"Yes," Scotty agreed, welcoming the hand back onto a fistful of his shirt as he adjusted the blanket wrap. He glanced over at Hampton; he really should check him, and the other two outside, make certain everything was secure. And get to a phone, too. Soon. As soon as Goza got back – right now he didn't dare leave Kelly, even though his partner was holding up pretty well for a man so tortured and drained of blood. But that could change so quickly. "How are you now?" he asked Kel. "Warm enough?" They'd left the car far down the road so it would take Goza at least five minutes to return.

"Promised myself – wouldn't complain," Kelly told him. "But you always – make it too – tight…" He took a couple of breaths, then said in a much softer tone. "I…should have seen something - they had it pretty well planned, but…."

"I had it pretty well planned, too," Scotty reminded him. "You should have listened to me and stayed put. Instead you ran off – two times, no less. And I had a plane waiting for you and everything. Don't think the Embassy didn't frown a little at that."

"Wouldn't – wouldn't have found out – this was quicker…"

Scotty didn't reply to that. Quicker maybe, but not safer, not by a mile, and much worse for Kelly. Born lucky, he silently reminded himself, even when such luck was accompanied by a lot of pain. It could've been worse at any point, but here they were, Kelly down and hurting but definitely alive. As for the others, well, this was what happened when the spy game went wrong and traitors were involved. The case, for all intents and purposes, was closed, with just a little cleanup required here, along with that little mess he'd left back in Patzcuaro. And the requisite paperwork. Which looked like it would be completed by his hand – again. Kel wasn't going to be up for that task for a while.

"You get 'em?" Kelly asked hoarsely, breaking into his little reverie.

"We took care of them," Scotty confirmed, hands going to check on the placement of the bandage under the blanket. Okay, nothing had soaked through…but where was Goza? How long did it take to bring that car up the road?

"The Russian – Randolph?"

"Outside." Scotty nodded in the direction of the door.

"Tomás?"

"The knife thrower?" Scotty guessed. "Him, too. Actually, Goza got him – saved _me_ from one in the back."

"Goza?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"Well, he found a little retribution, you see – sort of an eye for an eye." Scotty's hands reached for the raw wrist – nothing to worry about there, though that other arm … "In this case it was a knife for a knife…Goza stabbed him – in the back."

"Goza…m'man." Kelly worked up a little laugh that didn't manage to get caught in his throat, though he was obviously dehydrated – but to try and shove water down him at this point could be dangerous – he needed intravenous hydration.

Kelly sighed. "Elena?" he asked in a tone of self-reproach.

Scotty nodded over the image of her in his mind, the tears slicking her lashes, the line of blood working down her arm, his fingers pressing, tight, tighter… "She's been – detained." He glanced away to clear the memory, but when he looked back Kel was giving him that familiar-we'll-talk-later look.

"H – Hamp?" Kelly asked next.

Scotty nodded at the crumpled body only two feet away. "Not going anywhere."

"Not sorry about that," said Kelly. "Can't believe – he – he…" He broke off, flinched, swallowed. "Too many years – in the business…I guess."

Scotty nodded. "I'll tell you about it later." He eased a hand onto Kelly's lower leg, massaged lightly. "Can you feel anything now?"

"Some…I tell ya, Holmes…" Kelly's breathing went a little shaky. "It's a – lousy way to – end a vacation."

"Next time I go home you're coming with me, Duke," Scotty told him before he could push the thought back behind his own teeth – why had he let that one slip out? But now he had to finish it. "You get into too much trouble when you're on your own."

He expected the usual Robinson protest, but Kelly only blinked. "Sure – okay…" His voice dribbled away and his hand fell limply across Scotty's knee.

"Hey now…Kel?" The words rushed out with a blip of panic. Scotty smoothed back some sticky hair, slid some fingers over Kelly's cheek; his own hand was shaking. "Stay with me, okay? Come on, now, stay with me."

"Here…" Kelly sighed, blinking again. "But you – could hurry it up…"

There it was – an engine running, approaching. "I hear the car," Scotty told him, squeezing his shoulder. "We'll be out of here in a minute – get you fixed right up, okay?"

"I don't think – he even knows how to drive," Kelly murmured, closing his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

WHAT MATTERS MOST

Randolph's body sprawled across the walkway in the thin moonlight. The cheeks of his upturned face shone white, giving him a ghostly appearance. Quickly Scotty stepped over him and grabbed an arm; the man had no pulse. No ghost, then, just dead – a dead man. A dead traitor, like that Tomás across the way, like Hampton inside. He dragged Randolph over a few feet, then let him drop.

He shouldn't have done it; he knew he shouldn't, knew what would happen. But he did it – he stared down at the man, and the anger instantaneously surged through him. There was that long second when he should've just tamped it back down, but he didn't. Instead he let it invade him, wanting the feeling it gave him. They were dead but he wanted revenge, wanted it so bad he could smell it, taste it in his mouth, felt it slicking his hands with the tingling sweat of anticipation. Death had been too easy for them. He'd stopped them, yes, gone through them like he'd vowed he would, but where was the real justice? What pain had _they_ suffered? One bullet and gone. It wasn't enough – it wasn't…he wanted more. More…

He raised his foot; he wanted to stomp Randolph, tear apart his body in a show of vengeance. It'd be so easy – he'd just _stomp!_ That one for killing Nate. _Stomp!_ That one for hurting Kelly. _Stomp!_ One for himself. He'd just grind Randolph into the dirt, give him what he deserved, show them all what they deserved. More and more and more – _stomp stomp stomp-_

_Leave the dead be, Alexander…God will deal with them now._

He jerked like he'd been hit, the words ringing so close in his ear he thought she was really here. And then his brain fixed itself and drove out the demon that'd been dancing in there. His foot was still up, and he lowered it, took his gaze away from Randolph. Dead was dead, justified or unjustified. He didn't like it either way, but neither could he change it – that's what she'd taught him with the strength of those words. It just was.

There was a call; Goza was approaching. "We take him out the other way, _amigo_," he said, waving an all-clear. "I help you to carry him. That one…" He pointed to Tomás "…he is dead."

Scotty nodded dumbly back at him, suddenly exhausted and feeling a little ashamed that he'd let the emotion run over like that. Though the circumstances of the past few days hadn't been quite been usual. That could be a good excuse. Still, he knew better…_Time to focus_, he told himself, crossing the doorway, _you've got Kelly –that's all that matters now – it'll be all right- _

"S – Scotty…"

Kelly, pale and shaking, had worked himself up onto his elbow and was trying to point. "H – Hamp…" he gasped out. "Get him…"

Scotty saw the man he thought was dead writhing awkwardly to the other doorway. For an awful moment panic froze him, and all he could do was stand there like an idiot and blink in the bright glare of the room. _It was only for a second why didn't he die Kelly he'll hurt Kelly…why did I leave…? _and then instinct and training hurtled him forward.

This time he did stomp, but it was out of necessity. He kicked Hampton at the bloody spot in his hip; the other man went flat with a cry. Then he stepped on one shoulder and got around him. "Don't…" he told Hamp as he pulled his gun and aimed the barrel onto to the middle of the agent's bobbing head.. His gaze went quickly back to Kelly, but Goza was there, crouched protectively beside him, his own gun in his hand.

Hampton paused, made a face and got out a short bark of a laugh. He hitched himself onto one side, turned his gaze up to Scotty. Blood had bloomed across his shirtfront. "It was a good plan," he got out, eyes trying to focus. He tried a smile – it bled.

Scotty shook his head. "Not good enough. You involved too many people. "

"You'll report it – I suppose."

"Yes, I'll report it – it _needs_ to be reported."

"Why? You've already killed us all…"

Scotty leaned in angrily, held the gun steady, though there was little chance Hampton was going to do anything – he was already half-paralyzed and spitting blood. "Why, Hampton?" he began. "To clear my partner, for one. And to let your brass know just how you sold yourself out, and wrecked your own operations. They should've clipped your wings two years ago when they first thought you were dealing with the other side. Instead they shipped you here to avoid any 'embarrassment.' Well, shame on them, because you find a better advantage, almost from the moment you landed here. We checked, you see, and London confirmed – reluctantly." He glanced back over – Kelly was back down on the bed under Goza's firm hand, way too pale but aware and listening. "Tell me – was Randolph your contact back in London, too? He set up shop about the same time you got here – we checked that, too."

"It seems…you know it all now." Hampton's hands were jerking spasmodically. He coughed – more blood leaked from his mouth. There'd be no confession from the man, Scotty judged. Hamp was far too arrogant for that, even if he was about to breathe his last.

"Just doing my job, Hamp," Scotty told him softly. _To save my partner…never mess with a man's partner…_ "London was getting close and you needed to shake them off. So you set Elena up in a house rented under an anagram of your name. Got our schedules and went to town on Kelly." He swallowed back the sour taste of the all too recent memories. "Only you went too far."

The gaze in the black eyes was dimming. "How do you – figure…?"

"Killing, Hamp," Scotty told him. "Once you ordered the killing you couldn't stop."

"Sh-should've known…" The other man's eyes rolled but he pulled the focus back with a shudder that made his body twitch. "You always were – thorough…old chap. Too bad… you spoiled it."

"That's what happens when you sell out," Scotty told him with calm disgust. "You lose things – a home, a country, your integrity and your self-respect. That's what happens to traitors – sooner or later they get eliminated."

Hampton's smile this time was torturous. "Call it what you will," he slurred. "It was a good plan…almost worked." He sucked in a wet breath, shuddered again. Something in him started to rattle.

Scotty straightened back up – his mother's words hovered. Just as well – he was done with the man. "Heard enough?" he asked Kelly and Goza.

"Not worth – the breath he wasted," Kelly told him, while Goza muttered in Spanish about the need for confessing sins while Death waited.

"True true," Scotty murmured to himself, re-pocketing his gun. He stepped back over Hampton and got an arm around Kelly. The clutch of Kel's hand on his sleeve immediately grounded him, left him with no doubt that while this'd been close and there was fear to be had in that, what'd been done in the end was completely right. And now it was time to take care of his partner. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"…tol' you – dead's – not enough," Kelly chided sluggishly as Goza closed the car door and got into the driver's seat. "Good…and dead, a'right? Both factors – good – 'n dead. Th'colder…th'better."

Scotty had no idea how he was still aware, but was grateful all the same. "Thanks for the advice, Dad," he teased, managing a grin.

Kelly's head slipped the other way. "Anytime, son…"

"Can you even drive?" Scotty demanded of Goza, remembering Kelly's earlier comment. He settled against the back seat and carefully adjusted Kelly against his side, holding one cheek to keep the head in place against his shoulder. Kelly sighed hurtfully in response, pressed his lips together as if thinking, and went silent.

"Sure, sure!" Goza insisted, starting the engine. "We go now – I get you there."

"Best news I've heard all day," Scotty responded as the other man pulled the car onto the road. He lowered his head, whispered into Kelly's ear, "How you doing, man? You okay?"

"Okay," Kelly repeated in a tiny voice. His hand, fingers trembling, worked against Scotty's chest, held weakly. "Don't-don't let go…"

"I won't," Scotty promised, giving the stubbled cheek a stroke. _Okay, it's okay. Just a quick ride and it'll be fine…. _

The sound of the tires riding fast on the asphalt and Kelly's unsettled breathing filled the air inside the car. Scotty reached up and rubbed at the sore spot where a headache was beginning to really pound. All this death – even after all these years he just couldn't get used to it. _Keeps you human, man,_ Kelly once told him. _Keeps you from becoming one of them. _That's why the few successes – the ones that came back over, and the ones that gave up or gave in – were so sweet in victory. That's what made it worth it. And, he thought to himself, allowing a little smile at the man resting heavily against him, having a partner to share it with. This partner in particular. His best friend. Of course, this sort of thing happened way too often with Kelly winding up seriously hurt. But who'd want a half-hearted partner, anyway? _Not me, Jack, not me…_

He relaxed a little in the quiet. Goza wasn't the best at shifting gears, but he was keeping the car on the road. Kelly wasn't exactly dozing, but he seemed no worse. The wound had thankfully stopped bleeding – that would help. Once Kel was taken care of then he'd be able to call the Embassy, tell them to get a maintenance team over to Hampton's lodge, start on his report, meet Nate's successor and Hampton's chief and debrief. Had he really just returned from two weeks in Philadelphia? Well, he wasn't going anywhere now, not while Kelly recovered. The man just needed watching or he'd try and insist he'd be ready for an exhibition tennis game when what he really needed was more time to build up his strength. Re-establishing their cover could wait a while. There'd be explaining to do, but there was always some excuse to use. Acapulco had always been kind to them and would be again. He'd just have to keep Kelly off the sand and out of the water, maybe encourage him to work on his suntan more and let the pretty girls show him some sympathy – that shouldn't be too hard-

Kelly coughed – once, twice. Pulled in a gasp that turned into a wheeze. And another one. He shifted and his eyes pulled open – and they didn't blink.

"Hey, Kel…" Scotty felt him stiffen, and his brain went into immediate alert. He reached up through fresh sweat and found the racing pulse. "What's going on – tell me…"

"Jack…" Kelly got out, beginning to rattle in Scotty's grasp. He strained upward, gasping, got his head around. "Can't – I can't…I-I ca-"

_Collapsed lung._

Scotty kicked the passenger seat in front of him. "Get to the hospital now!" he shouted to Goza. The Mexican turned but stomped on the gas pedal – the car lurched forward.

Scotty grabbed for Kelly as the car swung around a corner. "Easy, Kel, easy." He pulled his partner upright against the seat and held him there, caught Kelly's head and kept his face turned to him. "Slow breaths – not too deep," he ordered, locking Kelly's tortured gaze to his. He showed Kelly how, breathed easy and light, even though his heart wanted to jump right out of his chest. Kept breathing while the car hurtled down the road in the darkness. Kept breathing, even though he was barely able to see more than the shining fear in Kelly's brown eyes. Breathed and breathed and finally Kelly breathed the same way – _good, more, more, okay…_ "Stay with me, Jack. Stay with me now, not too fast, that's it. Slow, slow, not too deep. Careful – okay, better? That's it…Slow…we're almost there…Goza…?"

_Breathe breathe please hurry please_

_Please…_

"We've stabilized him for now," the doctor said, walking them through the door to a back waiting area. "But he'll have to go to Mexico City for surgery – we can't do that here. We've arranged a plane…"

Scotty nodded, realized he'd just heard the whole explanation in Spanish. Already they were wheeling Kelly toward a running ambulance parked outside. He was gray faced and sweaty, his breathing hitched even with the aid of the oxygen mask strapped over his nose and mouth – it gave him an alien look Scotty wished he could find funny. But all he could do was press his hand against his own chest, feeling his partner's hurt. An ambulance ride, a plane ride, another hospital…too much. Just how 'stabilized' could he be? Would he even withstand all of it? What if…_No, don't…_but it persisted. What if-?

"_Amigo…"_ Goza touched his arm. He looked up to find the other man's face an open display of sympathy. "They wait for you." He gestured to Kelly, now a sheeted figure being rolled into the back of the vehicle. "Go – take care of him, kid."

Yes, take care of him – they had to go but…Scotty shook his head. "Um…no." No, this wasn't right. Goza'd been here all the while, all through this, was here even now. Good-bye couldn't be this way.

Goza's hand prodded him. "You go now with Kelly."

Scotty's gaze swung between his partner and their newfound friend. "No, you can't – wait…"

"No waiting. Go, _amigo_."

Again that stupid feeling came up over him – he had to go for Kelly's sake, had to be with his partner. But there was Goza – he wanted to talk to the man, really talk to him. And now there was no time. It was done, and Goza's part of the job was over. But he had to offer something to the man… He jammed his hand into his front jeans pocket, drew out bills, shoved them over. He hadn't paid up – all this and he hadn't paid the man the money he promised. "Here…take this."

Goza smiled but shook his head. He took a step back, fiddled with his hat. "No, kid, you already paid me, remember?"

"I didn't pay you anything, Jack," Scotty answered with frustration. "I owe you – for Kelly's life. Take it," he insisted, pushing it into Goza's hand because he didn't have anything else to offer – not even time. "A deal is a deal..." He was unsure of what to say, because there was so much to say – and no time for it. "Thank you – for helping him – for not letting me…for everything…"

Slowly Goza took the money, held it awkwardly. "You gringos make pretty good friends," he said with a slow smile. He held out his other hand.

Scotty clasped it firmly and shook it. "I – you – we need…" But the doctor was calling him in an urgent manner – they were holding the door for him. He had to go – _now_.

"_Adios,"_ Goza said softly. _"Hasta luego, amigo."_

With reluctance Scotty let go and headed to the ambulance. He gave one last look back before he climbed in next to Kelly-

Goza was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

COMPAÑEROS

"Uh-uh! No you don't!"

Kelly, his rear now fully lifted away from the seat of the wheelchair and thrust in Scotty's general direction, tipped a frustrated look back to his partner. "Scotty, come on now…"

"Sit back down, Jack."

"Scotty…"

"Don't wheedle me!"

"I'm not wheed – have I ever wheedled you? Truly?" Kelly brought up his best indignant expression. "If you weren't my friend, and I mean my very best friend, in the whole world, I'd take offense at that word coming outta your mouth, Jack. Of all the – wheedling…"

"Sit down," Scotty commanded, now rising himself. "Or I'll take you back to your room, tie you to that chair and leave you there for a week. Would you like that instead?"

Kelly sighed – for all his words, there was a truth to Scotty's tone. He plopped back down into the wheelchair, barely felt the twinge of pain that resulted. Temporarily chastened, he stuck a fist onto his cheek and rested his head, watched from behind the brown lenses of his sunglasses as Scotty settled back down into the shade of the umbrella table. Okay, no moving, but that didn't mean he couldn't give his overly protective partner some verbal grief instead. Sometimes that got under Scotty's skin even better, especially since he was already frustrated about the overdue expense report.

"I'm telling you, Jack," he grumbled. "Three weeks in this chair and I've got – _chair_ _sores_ – from all this sitting around. My legs…they're atrophying before my very eyes – before yours too, if you'd care to even look."

"I'm sure the Department could use a good man to push some paper around at the Pentagon," Scotty said without looking up, flipping a page of his own report. "They could find you some nice windowless space down in the basement somewhere. That might dry up your chair sores…or it could make you go blind. Which one would you prefer?"

"Scotty, come on, I'm bored."

Scotty looked up. "How can you be bored in this paradise, man?" He gestured at the busy resort patio clogged with happy, half-dressed _touristas _surrounding them. Even the sailboard gently bobbing in the bay behind them seemed to be nodding happily. "You've got the sun and the sea and a fresh tan there on your legs – which don't look any atrophied to me, by the way. You've got it made – no shot drills, no target practice, no judo training-"

"No swimming, no dancing, no dinner dates…" Kelly morosely returned, scowling at the scene - it'd been the same for days. If the damned sailboat suddenly flipped over he'd cheer with joy.

"You want a dinner date?" Scotty asked him. "Go for yourself, Hoby. Just be home before dessert gets put on the table."

"Jack, how can I just eat dinner and then run home to Mom?" Kelly demanded. "I've got a scar to show – a nice fresh scar, mind you. And it's not like I can just roll up a sleeve and point to it. There's a delicate way of handling this kind…"

"And what'll you do if you start wheezing right in the middle of that dessert of yours?" Scotty returned quickly. "You're not healed, man. When you're healed then you can get out of the chair."

"Ah…newsflash?" Kelly waved a hand. "I've been out of the chair, Duke. I get outta this chair every day to-"

"-exercise, I know. And that's all you're allowed out of the chair for."

"How about a walk, then? That's exercise, isn't it?"

"Later – I need to finish this report first. Why don't you take a nap right there? Just close your eyes and enjoy the breeze."

"'m not tired."

"Then read a book."

"No." Kelly made a face. "Hey, what if I-?"

"No."

"You haven't even heard-"

"I don't have to – it won't be on the 'okay' list. And if it's not on the okay list then the answer is no."

"How about a drink, then? Can I have one with a little more 'refreshment' in it?"

"How many pain pills have you taken today?" Scotty asked in that all too familiar doctor-sounding tone he'd adopted in the past three weeks.

"Just a couple at breakfast." Kelly held up a hand in salute for emphasis. "Scout's honor."

Scotty snorted. "That's not the Scout sign." He folded his fingers correctly. "Okay, go for a drink – maybe it'll make you sleepy."

Sure, and no waiter in sight. Not that he really wanted one – he just wanted to get _something_ out of his partner. Scotty'd been way too broody the past few days. The aftermath, Kelly knew. Scotty often bottled up a lot of his own emotion after the end of a trying situation. And this traitor business rightly qualified as trying. Usually his partner would find something to do to relieve the stress he'd sucked up into his mind and body, and then be back to his old self. A few trips to the gym or a call home to Mom usually did the trick. But after seven half-remembered days at the Mexico City Hospital - for the both of them - they'd returned to Acapulco and an endless round of doctor appointments, bandage changes, physical therapy, medication schedules, debriefings… and exhaustion. With little time left for anything else, Scotty had developed a short temper and some particularly bad dreams. Kelly could at least tend him through the nightmares, but there had to be something he could do to get Scotty out of his funk, besides trying to heal as fast as he could. Actually, getting out of Acapulco might be the best thing to do. He'd be cleared for duty soon, and the shot drills, target practice and judo training - which he'd be most happy to begin again because it would be _something _to do - could take place anywhere. Maybe he'd make a call later, start pulling for an assignment on the other side of the world. He smiled to himself – Japan. Scotty really liked Japan…

That decided, Kelly let his gaze wander over the tourists enjoying themselves in the sun-splashed Acapulco afternoon. There'd been a girl yesterday, a pretty petite thing that'd winked at him as she'd strolled past, but no sign of her today. And he'd kept an eye out all the while he'd been needling Scotty. And it was needling, not wheedling… This time he did sigh. He was bored and infinitely restless. He was through with napping and reading. He'd already cleaned his and Scotty's guns – both sets. He'd snuck a couple of weights into their room and worked them on various trips to the bathroom. He'd ordered in and ordered out, watched the sailboats cruise the bay and the chicks cruise the patio – and otherwise sat in this chair. There'd been a few meals with pretty company ad enjoyable sympathy, but nothing more. Because Scotty was just taking too much care of him. And wrestling with his own tortured self.

"Still working on that, huh?" Kelly now asked, pointing to the pages his partner was studying once more.

Scotty casually laid his pencil aside and calmly gathered up the papers. "Almost done," he said, and put them onto the seat of the chair beside him.

"Don't sweat it, man," Kelly shrugged, sensing an opening. _C'mon, man, let me in… _"Just write it off to hospital services, or something like that."

"Your medical plan paid for everything hospital related," Scotty reminded him.

"Oh…" Kelly thought furiously for a second. "Then call it a – 'charge to procure information.'"

Scotty released a breath and let his gaze drift. Kelly saw it – a jumble of emotion that rolled unchecked for a quick moment across his partner's face. "I don't even know if that's where it went," Scotty said with unusual resignation, settling his features again. He looked away and swallowed something back. His voice went soft. "I don't even remember half of what I did once I saw that knife in your back."

_Okay, Duke, it's okay…_ "You remembered enough to put in the report," Kelly told him quietly. "That's better than I managed. It went all fuzzy for me once I got in that canoe."

Scotty shifted, shook his head. He kept fiddling with the pencil, tapping it onto his thumb. "I just wish…"

Kelly leaned in and stilled the pencil with a comforting hand; Scotty's fingers were cold. "I know," he said, giving them a little squeeze before he plucked the pencil away.

"If you'd just …" Scotty began.

"I know."

"I couldn't - it took too long…"

"I know."

"You know I hate it when you-"

"I _know_," Kelly told him. "And I hate to see you beat yourself up over this. You did all you could do - there wasn't anything else you could've done better." _And thanks to you I'm still here. _He cleared his throat and decided to push a little. "I'll remind you, sir, that here's no room for regret in this business, and that's straight out of our revered spy manual." He pressed forward. "Surely you remember the page number, sir? The chapter on mission components, I believe?"

Scotty slowly, almost shyly, looked back up. _C'mon, man, let it go, _Kelly silently urged.

Scotty debated a moment more. "Page one thirty-six," he finally answered.

"Certainly," Kelly nodded, holding back his smile. _Good for you, Jack. _"One thirty-six and I quote, 'The assignment must be viewed as either a success or failure…'" Then he couldn't help his grin, and let his mouth go. "…and doesn't count any little trivial issues like wishes, desires, stabbings, so called running off, uncommon thieves or hospitalization."

That made his partner smile, even if it was over the ridiculousness of it. "We were born lucky, is that it?" Scotty reminded him.

"That is exactly, it, Herman," Kelly told him encouragingly. "A little roughed up, maybe, but still whole. Well, speaking for myself there are a more few dents and dings, but nothing that keeps me from running smooth and clean. But you, sir…" He gestured broadly with both hands. "You are a model of health and vitality. And you shouldn't be wasting this absolutely tourist-perfect day suffering your brain over such evil, vile things as numbers. What say you take yourself down to the beach and find a little spot to swim and admire all those friendly tourists and helpful locals? I'm sure I'd be fine here by myself…"

Scotty shook his head, but kept his smile. "Nice try, Duke, but no dice."

"Then you could take _me_ for a little stroll to the water…"

"Okay, fine, you win, a little walk – strictly for exercise. But not until I'm done this report, okay? D'you think you can sit still for a couple more minutes? And don't ask for any wheelies on the way, all right? No wheelies." Then the look in his dark-eyed gaze softened into gratefulness. "Thanks, man."

The familiar comfortableness slipped back between them, so right and so normal. It was okay and by tonight it'd be better, perfect. Kelly took up his watered down drink and toasted his partner and best friend. "All right, Jack. All right. To the report with you now." He slid the pencil back over.

As Scotty slipped on his sunglasses and bent his head to the task once again, Kelly saw approaching movement – a lovely sway of bikini-clad hips, that blonde bob of hair – it was her. Definitely cute. Definitely alone. And definitely heading his way.

She caught his eye as she sashayed toward him – and winked. He gave her his best smile and let his hands shake in a show of hungry tremors. She stepped to the right, but gave him a flirty little glance and a matching smile. Forget Scotty and his hovering. Kelly's hands reached for the wheels and got the chair going – not that it'd be easy with all the people crowded out here, but maybe some sympathetic tourist would give a nice looking guy in a wheelchair some assistance…

"Hey, Kid!"

Kelly halted and turned his head, eyes automatically scanning the area for threats, his periphery vision telling him Scotty was doing the same. But there was something oddly familiar in that greeting – just who…oh, for-

Goza hurried around the tables and people and rocked to a stop in front of him. Then he leaned in. "_Chico! _Hey, you don't look too good," he greeted, trying for deadpan. He ran a hand down Kelly's bare left arm. "You got fat!" he declared.

"Goza!" Kelly exclaimed delightedly. "Is that really you? What did you do to yourself?"

He shook his head in wonderment – the man was a fashion disaster in a colorful striped sport jacket, a new straw hat, a pair of shades, white tennis shoes of all things – and was that a hula girl posing on his tie?

Goza proudly smiled down at himself. "I look really nice, eh?"

"Beautiful," Kelly chuckled and glanced over at Scotty. "Wonderful isn't it?"

Scotty only grinned. A good and happy grin, Kelly noticed. Yep, Japan would be a good present for Scotty…

"I took the hundred dollars you give me and I invested it in jai-alai – I won seven hundred!" Goza told them.

Kelly gave Scotty a raised brow – well, at least they definitely knew where the money went. "Procurement," he whispered over. Scotty just grunted back but got his pencil moving. "All right," Kelly nodded approvingly at Goza.

"Now I think I go back to Vera Cruz," the Mexican announced with an air about him revealed an odd seriousness. Vera Cruz – his hometown Kelly recalled. Funny that he could clearly recall their first meeting and the scuffle with each other but little else after that, other than the man's constant presence by his side.

"Well, I think the Acapulco police will throw a celebration," Kelly told him with a grin. "To celebrate your…reform."

The smile slid off Goza's bearded face. He gave a slight sigh of resignation. "You're right, kid," he nodded. "I got a very bad reputation."

Scotty let out a little snort and Kelly barely managed to cover his. Reform and Goza didn't exactly go together. Then again, situations could change a man. And he was glad Goza was here – there were things to be said…

"Hey, Goza, push me." He thumped the wheels of the chair. "I want to get out of here for a bit."

"You're crazy, kid," Goza declared, turning about. "What's better than this place?"

"Hoby…" Scotty called in light warning.

"Sitting, Jack. I'm sitting," Kelly insisted as Goza took hold of the handles of the wheelchair. "And my _amigo_ will take good care of me, right, Goza m'man?"

"Sure, kid, sure."

"Go, go," Kelly urged him, as the other man began maneuvering the wheelchair around the umbrella topped tables. "Quick, before he changes his mind." Goza readily complied and sped them away from the throngs of bodies clustered all around them toward the edge of the sea wall that wound around to the hotel garden beyond. For a few furious moments they kept a companionable silence between them as Goza steered the chair along at a good clip farther away from the afternoon party crowd, then Kelly just couldn't resist poking fun at the man.

"I gotta tell you," he began, giving Goza another examination. "That is one loud jacket, man – just where did you find that?"

"Looks good, eh?" Goza smiled, abruptly stopping to admire his striped sleeves.

Kelly shoved himself back into the seat from where he'd slipped forward. "I tell you, Duke," he said, wrapping his fingers around an arm support to keep himself in place. "It won't be hard to spot you in a crowd."

That wiped the smile of Goza's face. "You think of the worst things, kid." He resumed pushing Kelly and went silent.

Kelly risked settling himself into a comfortable slouch, enjoying this tiny slice of different scenery. The pain was all but gone now, and his arm was gaining strength, thanks to those bathroom weight sessions. He'd even managed to hit a few balls with the racket earlier, and hadn't stumbled even once, hadn't even breathed too hard. He was anxious for a swim – so far he'd only been allowed a few surface strokes, but nothing underwater, nothing that might strain the lung. Strict and careful exercise, and all performed under Mother Scott's careful supervision. Another week, the doctor'd told him this morning. Which to Scotty meant another week using the wheelchair. The chair was a good magnet for the chicks, even if it meant he could only go so far as having dinner because Scotty was keeping tabs on his free time and calling it a need to rest. Well, there was that blonde back there – he'd leave the chair for her, test the rest of the works as it were, if only he could find a way to keep Scotty from finding out. Maybe a long lunch would be better than an evening dinner…

"You feel good, kid?" Goza asked, popping his thoughts, slowing to a more careful stop this time just inside the small garden area.

"I do, Goza."

Goza seated himself on the wall and took off his sunglasses. He peered at Kelly more intently this time. "You okay now? They hurt you pretty bad."

Kelly pushed his own shades onto the top of his head. "I'm okay. I got lucky – I had you with me. I couldn't have done it without you, m'man. I mean that."

Goza smiled at him. "We went through a lot together, eh? True _compañeros_. And we beat all those _ladrónes_ at their own game. It was good, kid."

"_Verdad,"_ Kelly affirmed.

"But you make people worry, kid." Goza pointed. Scotty was approaching at a leisurely stroll.

Kelly waved at him. "So I've been told."

"He cares for you a lot, kid," Goza told him. "He cut the girl for you."

Kelly pressed his lips together and nodded. "I know." He'd gotten the details from Scotty after reading it in the report, and after he'd spent some of his own time reproaching himself for never suspecting the girl until it was too late. He didn't want his partner to ever have to go through that again.

"He knows a lot of things," Goza commented, nodding at Scotty.

"Yes, he does," Kelly agreed, following the gaze. _Best damned partner in the whole world…and I'm the luckiest one to have him._

"Hey…" Goza stood and reached into his jacket pocket. "Here, I got something for you…"

"My watch!" Kelly took it. "Where'd you…? I thought – did you go back there? For me?" He slipped it on, snapped the clasp closed, held up his wrist for inspection.

"Looks good," Goza nodded approvingly. "Not even a scratch. Probably get you eighty American dollars back at that pawn shop." He colored a little then, and it made Kelly laugh; so much for that newfound reform.

"I figured that watch would be no good to those _ladrónes_ back in Patzcuaro," Goza went on, still looking a little uncomfortable. "So I go back there and get it for you. And," he shrugged but let a sheepish smile slip through, "a few other things…_Compañeros_, _verdad?_ That's what we do for each other."

_Compañeros…_Kelly nodded. "I gotta tell you, Goza, if it hadn't been for you – well, I don't think it would have turned out the same."

Goza cleared his throat, glanced off. "Well, kid…it's good to see you okay. It was close, eh? Well…" He scrubbed a hand through his ever scruffy beard, then adjusted the hat on his head and rose. "So I guess…I go now…"

"Hey, wait." Kelly eased himself up out of the chair because he couldn't do this sitting down, not to the man to whom he owed his life. "Now, you just – I have…"

"Hey, hey kid," Goza quickly protested. He stepped in, hooked a hand under Kelly's elbow to help.

"It's okay, I'm all right," Kelly told him, straightening. "No matter what Scotty back there might think. Goza, my man," he smiled, and held out his hand. "_Gracias_, thank you, for – everything. You did some things a lesser man couldn't. You saved my life. I'm glad you came back – I've been wanting to tell you this but I didn't know how to get ahold of you. I even had Scotty take me back to that pawn shop but the owner said he hadn't seen you."

Goza reluctantly shook Kelly's hand, but his grip was firm. "It wasn't so much, kid," he demurred, waving a hand. "Silly _gringo_ like you – how could I let you go off by yourself?"

"It was a lot," Kelly gently corrected him. "You're a good man - and a good friend. It's good to have a good friend like you in this sort of business."

Goza laughed at that. "_Sí, amigo. _And you need to be careful just who you call friend in this business of yours."

"True true," Kelly affirmed. "Now, m'man, what say we invite ol' Scotty back there to join us and-"

There she was again, standing right on the other side of the wall. And very definitely staring at him. With very startling blue eyes. And with curves in all the right places. And…

"Ah, Goza…um, well…"

The other man nudged him. "Hey, kid, I think you better be careful. I think maybe your luck with women is not so good lately."

"Yes, well…but this could be a change for the better. Push me over to her, will you?" He sat carefully back down in the chair. She was smiling at him now - and definitely waiting for him. And you couldn't keep a girl like this waiting…

"What about him?" Goza pointed back to Scotty, now jogging for them. He began to push Kelly forward.

"What, Scotty? Well, you go with him, Goza. He keeps saying how much he's been wanting to talk to you. Hi, there!" He called brightly over to the girl and waved. She waved back.

"No problem for me, kid. But I don't think he wants to talk to me just yet…"

"Hey!" Scotty's shrill whistle sailed over to them. He was only a few steps away - those longs legs had moved fast. "Hold it, Jack! This is exactly why-"

"Just until dessert - I promise!" Kelly called back. He held up his hand. "Scout's honor!"

Scotty slowed. "That is not the Scout sign, man." But he gave just the tiniest nod. "And it better only be until dessert."

"I promised, didn't I?" _Thanks, man, for letting it go…_

"And one more thing…" Scotty stopped and stood, fisting his hands on his hips. Well, maybe he wasn't going to let it go quite so easily. "Stay outta the bathroom, man. I found those weights. You want to rip a tendon or something? That'll set you back another two weeks - you want that?"

"Might not be so bad," Kelly murmured as Goza stopped him before the lovely, bikini-clad thing. He reached up, took her tiny hand into his, turned it over and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "My sweet child, I've waited so long to meet you…"

"Be careful, kid," Goza reminded him.

Be careful - yes, he'd be very careful. He'd treat her most tenderly, and hopefully she'd do the same for him. It was a sunny Acapulco afternoon just made for margaritas and she was here to share it with him. And dammit if that sailboat out in the bay really was nodding happily at him.

Born lucky - believe it.

end


End file.
